• The wind’s symphony ran through the open field, encircling it with a loneliness that was felt by its only occupant. She sat against the old maple tree; the tree’s leaves had fallen for the start of winter which had come underway. The girl’s gaze was held to the horizon that was encircled with by a mantle of yellow, orange, and red. The twilight of this afternoon was expected to come soon, but the girl moved not a muscle. Her extreme stillness was shilling and frightening; one could have thought her to be dead if not for the shallow and barely noticeable breathing. Maybe this was not a false assumption, however; her gaze held no emotion; her lips a thin line forming neither a smile nor a frown. She was now a living statue; the shell of who she was or of what she was to be.

    However, the most thrilling aspect of this girl was the beauty she possessed. Not even great sculptors, not even the greatest of artists, not even God himself could have captured such a divine image. She was heavenly in every sense imaginable; thick brown hair that hung in tresses around her shoulders; those lips which although thin, begged to be explored and felt; the skin which you swore was as soft and smooth as it seemed and those eyes. The effect those eyes had was not a consequence of neither the texture nor the color; it was the intensity. Those eyes draw you and pierce your soul with emotions you can not explain, which you can not place, which frighten you beyond anything else, which become your addiction. Those beautiful and mysterious eyes became my one and only drug, my one and only sin, my one and only desire.